


Five Fantasies Holmes Has

by ladyblahblah



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 5 Things, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/pseuds/ladyblahblah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a challenge on holmesslash: five fantasies Holmes has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Fantasies Holmes Has

1\. “Please, Mr. Holmes, we can’t solve it without you.”  
  
He is moments away from begging on his knees, and I confess I am tempted to postpone my capitulation in order to see it.  
  
“Very well.  But you must swear to pay very close attention to my methods, as next time I might not be in so acquiescent a mood.”  
  
“It would be an honor, sir,” he assures me.  “If you’d like to see the site now, we’ve left everything exactly as it was when we found it, and we’ve roped off the surrounding area.”  
  
I sigh, pleased.  “Excellent, Lestrade.”

 

 

 

2\. “I say, Watson!”  
  
“I’ve told you before, Holmes, I shall do whatever it takes to get you to take care of yourself.  You need to eat, or you’ll suffer another collapse!  That means no cases until you recover.  Isn’t it better to simply forestall such an eventuality?”  
  
I raised an eyebrow.  “You don’t think this is rather . . . extreme?”  
  
“No, I don’t.  Not if it works.”  
  
“My dear boy,” I murmured lowly as I took in the sight of his naked body acting as a serving platter for tonight’s dinner.  “I assure you, it is working splendidly.”

 

 

 

3\. “There can be no mistake,” Gregson said gravely.  “Apparently there was a third brother, the product of one of their father’s youthful indiscretions.  Hid away in Australia until recently, when he moved back to London and established himself as a member of the elite.”  
  
“And the family characteristics?  Are they as strong in him?”  
  
“Without a doubt.  We can prove nothing, but we suspect him of orchestrating at least four killings and as many as a dozen robberies.”  
  
“Another Moriarty,” I said under my breath, rubbing my hands together.  “It seems that London may finally be growing interesting again.”

 

 

 

4\. “I’ve figured it out at last,” he says.  “I only regret that it has taken me this long.”  
  
For once, I can not follow his thoughts.  “Watson?”  
  
“I’ve often wondered why you let me tag along on your cases.  Yes,” he says before I can speak, “I am your faithful Boswell.  But what use is a biographer who is usually denied permission to publish?”  His hand lifts to cup my cheek.  “Now . . . I think I know why.”  
  
He leans toward me, his eyes inviting.  
  
It ends there, for I still do not know how to respond.

 

 

5\. He enters the room, and my eyes speak for me.  There is no need to look for the morocco case; he already knows my intentions.  I will wait for him to leave, but no longer.  
  
It has me in its power.  He knows it.  
  
In two long strides he crosses the room.  He takes up the bottle and hurls it into the fire, followed by the syringe.  It is lucky that I chose water instead of alcohol for my solution.  
  
I can not break free alone, and I scorn his help.    
  
Somehow, thank God, he still knows I want it.

 

 


End file.
